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Three weeks ago now, we had the old girl pulled out of the water to have her bottom re-blacked. The last time this was done was four years ago now (and four years before that, just before I bought her). This is probably twice as long as recommended but, I’m happy and relieved to say, that she has fared well – despite mental pictures of lace curtains that haunted me as the day approached.

But none of that – she is fine and in very good shape.

Her first two ‘outings’ were at Welford’s dry dock where I believe they did a splendid job. This time, Welford being so far to cruise to when you are constrained by having to go out to work, it seemed favourite to make use of the facilities here – ie the slipway with its bomb trolley, as John calls it, and the excellent workmanship of Andy and Jess.

We’ve witnessed their handiwork on many occasions; business here picking up no end since they took on this service. No surprise really as they do a brilliant job.

I was at work when they decided to pull her out and couldn’t wait for me to get back – time and tide waiting for no man (or even boatbird it seems) – other boats already lining up to take their turn. So I authorised John to skipper the operation to drive her up the slipway. Not that I had any fears on that score; just a bit miffed to miss the event.

Perhaps as well. I can turn into a real old woman when it comes to Hobo’s well-being. And driving into the yard to see her sitting safely atop the trolley on the slipway was a huge relief…

As Jess made a start on scraping off the sludge…

Andy pronounced Hobo a very well made boat and her hull in great condition. Music to my ears.

I always thought she was a good boat but there’s nothing like hearing it from someone that knows about these things and is totally unbiased.

They set about grinding her back to the metal, observing strict health and safety regs of course…

Even the, now eight year old, anodes had stood up well…

But I decided to add four new ones…

As I didn’t think they’d go another four years.

On closer inspection, there was one place that caused concern, this being on the waterline where the red stripes around the stern…

As much as I wanted to keep this traditional cream over red design, I conceded it would be prudent to lose this to further bitumen. Really quite nasty pitting so best get rid.

Protection over cosmetics every time.

And here it is gone…

After all, I can always re-instate it at a later date if I feel so inclined.

Actually, I’m quite liking the green stripe that has been used for masking – called frog tape and apparently brilliant.

On the bow too…

We shall see. More work to bring the superstructure up to scratch first though.

I’m getting more and more ideas for decoration and I reckon, by the time Hobo is tiddled up enough and ready for some artistry, I shall have a plan.

The truly marvellous thing when it comes to slipway versus dry dock is that boatbird can still live aboard while work is carried out, courtesy of some giant steps…

The noise and dust is a bit of a pain but that stops in the evening so not all bad. I do struggle to walk half sharp when she’s not floating though. Feels so weird.

We were so lucky with the weather – the whole three days were glorious, sunny and, most importantly, dry. Well done, for once, to whoever arranges the weather. Just check out that sky…

Not forgetting the good old digger that pulled her up and kept her there…

My rudder and propeller. Before…

And after…

Minus the tangle of wire/weed/whatever.

The team in action…

Supervised by the John…

Looking good now the paint is going on.

Notice which gender isn’t standing around/watching/chatting?

That said, they both grafted furiously. Indeed, once we saw how hard they worked, any guilt at not having done it ourselves (and saving loadsamymoney) simply evaporated. We conceded we are just too old disinclined to undertake that level of physical effort.

A view from afar…

Because I can.

There’s even a short/boring/vaguely amusing video of Hobo as she comes off the slip – I was present for this – but I’m too mean to upgrade this site so it can’t be shown here. Maybe I’ll just post it on fishface instead.

There was a bonus too. My kitchen sink has been bloody useless decidedly inefficient since day 1. Any waste drained (or not) into the u-bend then into a thinner pipe, which actually went uphill – I may have mentioned this before – a right royal pain in the arse.

Being on the hard was the perfect time to work on her so we did just that. With Andy’s advice and a borrow of his tools, John drilled another hole (eek) in Hobo’s hull (lower and larger than the previous one) to take a 38mm skin fitting, this being provided by a kind neighbour who just happened to have one going spare. This then linked to a larger hose, pointing downhill, we did away with the u-bend altogether and BINGO – the water now actually drains away. Quickly. Along with any gunk I happen to carelessly throw down it.

And John has plumbed it in such a way I even have more under-sink cupboard space, which on a narrowboat is back of the net.

All in all a pleasant experience. And you can’t always say that about routine maintenance.

I suspect you’ll have heard me talking trains before. Fact is, when you live on the water, they are never very far away and the tracks often run parallel. They actually cross the river at Kecksy’s Bridge, near to my winter mooring.

I’ve no axe to grind with them really – before today that is – I like to see them slice through the countryside, I like to ride on them and I even like some of the sounds they make.

In truth, it’s not the trains that have wound me up today but the level crossings… And probably not even them, more the people that operate them or, in all probability it comes down to the dreaded Health and Safety Rules.

This was one of the 10 trains that held me up for 20 minutes this afternoon in sunny Cheshunt. I kid you not – 20 minutes during which the barrier didn’t lift once. That’s an extraordinarily long time when you are static.

And I thought Roydon was bad.

It’s not like it was a train every two minutes… no it was two or three together then a stonking great long wait. This happened a few times and each time you get to thinking ‘Right, now the barriers will lift’ but no, another brain numbing 3 or 4 minute break before the next sighting.

They even keep you behind bars while the train is stationary in the station. Could this be the origin of the word stationary?

So tell me, why can’t they let a few cars/pedestrians/cyclists through while people embark/disembark? This would ease the congestion I’m sure. There were huge tailbacks both sides as you might imagine.

Is it a little man in a uniform exercising his power, having a laugh at the poor, frustrated motorist – already penalised, picked on and punished till their ears bleed. That same motorist. who was by now largely out of their vehicle, stretching their legs, leaning on the barriers looking up and down the track and actually talking amongst themselves.

I have to say that there was no real impatience or rowdy behaviour, as you might expect in this situation, but rather it was a sort of get together. Maybe this is the way that Cheshuntonians socialise – never mind the pub, café or market place, let’s all go down to the station at 4 o’clock and hang around the level crossing. A kind of enforced, non-negotiable break from the daily grind. Got to be good for twenty minutes or so…

It’s quite interesting to see how high the tolerance of the pedestrian is too. They seem to hang around for so long (and notably longer still if they have a bike/pushchair to haul across) before they give in and trudge up the metal stairway to get to the other side.

We are all fond of knocking the ridiculous health and safety malarkey, and no wonder, but I would go so far as to say that it is having the reverse effect. I can fully understand that, in this situation, why folk might dodge around the barriers and run across the track (often with tragic consequences) or hit the throttle and try to beat the barriers when the red light starts to flash.

But tell you what…

The little man in the office didn’t half get those barriers up quick smart when he saw me snapping away with the old camera.

Coincidence?

Maybe I look like a local journo, looking for the next opportunity to slag off the railway?

The Law of Sod dictates that any decent boating weather going is also good farming weather. As someone in this alliance of ours needs to earn money (and it isn’t me just now) farming has to take priority over the fun things – boating and even flying. We will get to take Hobo out but no doubt when the weather isn’t fit for much else – you can still boat in the rain and cold and wind even though you probably don’t want to. It does mean that you get the river to yourself though so that is a bit of a bonus. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.

The treehouse is where the John resides when he is not on the boat. It is at the farm on the Fens where he works (delightfully and accurately known as Nettle Bank) and, whilst it might not be the lovingly crafted from wood, romantic maze wedged among the branches of a magic tree with lookouts, secret escape runs, rope swings and fairy lights that you might have (and I once did) imagine, it is at treetop height and does have some lovely views. Fen skies in particular (you’ve seen those before so I will try to show you something different this time) and countryside in general. No, it is a portakabin on stilts – sorry if this shatters any illusions.

John is in fact playing tractor tractor right now, making the soil ready for planting, which is set to start on Monday (late this year). So if I want to see John I come to the treehouse. It’s no hardship though, I like it here and it has become another home from home – much like the bus in SA. It can be very peaceful here too (when the yard isn’t full of slaves during the potato harvest and the peacocks aren’t being overly vocal) so condusive to writing, reading or doing nothing…three of my favourite things. It’s also a damned good place to walk or take the air, provided the ‘Fen Blow’ is switched off and you have packed suitable outdoor wear. I’ve finally got it right this weekend with wellies, arctic fleece, woolly socks and anorak when all I really need is shorts and flip-flops…hey-ho.

There are sofas – two of them – so a real treat for me. I do love a good lounge on the couch but not enough to crowd out Hobo by installing one there.

Multi-aspect windows are great for gazing out of but play havoc with computer screens – as yet no blinds/curtains but John is threatening to make shutters. (He has coped for a decade without them so I am not holding my breath).

Heating by halogen/convection is fine now that the boss has his own windfarm and encourages the use of electricity and much less dramatic than the flame-throwing space heater that was the order of the day on my first visit.

Tom, Dick and Harry – phase 1 of the windfarm

Kitchen facility is minimal with kettle, microwave, toaster, slow cooker and electric frying pan. The lack of a conventional oven and hob is fine by me – no hot stove for me to slave over. The bathroom has all the usual facilities – H/C, shower, loo – no bath though. Well…nothing is perfect. The bedroom is just that – room for a bed and not much else so we fight for floor space on which to neatly hang our clothes. There is, however, both curtain and blind that helps to stop the rising sun from being too much of a nuisance in the morning.

Being a lazy cow Not wishing to upset the natural and unique charm of the treehouse, I do try to leave it be and not engage in domestic interference or inflict too much order hereabouts. John has his own system and far be it from me to upset the chaos rhythym and feng shui that he has created. It does get the better of me sometimes though and I find myself tidying or cleaning but it doesn’t last for long. Usually just as long as it takes to scour the inside of a mug that has seen many brews and not a lot of washing up inbetween. Or scrape a path through the mud on the kitchen floor. Nothing too strenous you understand.

There’s decking (cleverly crafted from potato boxes) at the top of the stairs that serves as a dumping ground for John’s treasures verandah. This is due for a little re-modelling imminently as the staircase is about to be moved (to give slightly more private access away from the middle of the busy, muddy yard) and existing boxes now rotten as a pear and an accident waiting to happen fail to meet strict health and safety standards in force at Nettle Bank. Yeah right..

To be fair, the treehouse doubles as the farm office so sees its fair share of muddy boots and, with farming starting painfully early and continuing till darkness and beyond, I completely see that anything more than a shower/something to eat/bed after a day’s work is simply too much to ask. Of a man.

Downstairs is a fully kitted out workshop (where John makes things and can amuse himself for hours), jetwash (well there was before the pikeys paid a visit), endless supply of calor gas, diesel and wood in exchange for reasonable money or (in desperate times) my labour. And all the potatoes you can eat, the occasional cauli and coming soon – peas. Not to mention a runway, now properly grassed (needs mowing and rolling) just the ticket for John to make his escape…

Walk this way…

…to the landing strip

John’s boss, recently seen on BBC’s ‘Question Time’ and not one to be messed with,

is very accomodating of John’s love of flying and has made a super job of the new runway. He’s a pussycat really…….

Mostly, this year is all about wheat and the spuds are being kept to a minimum.And the aforementioned peas.I’m thinking we need a tractor pic so here is John in the distance, spreading the fertilizer..and again close up..Now you know what it means if John is back in the yard……..Yep, it’s time for lunch. Hooray!!